


The Diary of Wynter, ice cold Inquisitor

by DeathHerself



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 11:25:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13386816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathHerself/pseuds/DeathHerself
Summary: Wynter never asked to be spat out the rift nor be crowned the Herald of Andraste. She just wants to go back to her quiet life of wandering. Unfortunately, thanks to her ambassadors and the hole in the sky, it won't be happening anytime soon. might as well make the best of it whilst she can, even with her intense hatred of her Templar Commander.But hatred can quickly become confused with lust - and so out comes a fierce relationship.





	The Diary of Wynter, ice cold Inquisitor

Sitting out on the ice, Wynter was living up to her name. Drawing from her more than adequate mana reserves, she had thrust her hands into the ice and pulled up a throne, crystalline and glittering out in the sun, with said Herald strewn across it, her legs over one arm, her back against the other, lost in her book as far away from the rabble as she could possibly be. The cold wasn’t bothering her at all, having either lived near the Frostbacks, or perhaps that her icy magic kept the bite away, even so far out from the heat of Haven. After the week she’d had, she bloody well deserved some time away from her constant pestering of advisors or people - at least until she herself had time to digest what in the hell had happened.

Green, lots of green… A spectre talking to her, the divine mother, then she was spat out of the other side of the rift in a heap on the snow in the burning wreckage. 

Turning up her nose, she looked around, the book wasn’t really that interesting anyway, or maybe she was just restless. Maybe the whole “being taken prisoner thing,” did that, though she couldn’t really tell. Cassandra turned out to be a charmer for sure though, and a smirk graced Wynters lips as she thought about the dark haired warrior, she was pretty sure they’d be fast friends in no time. Especially when it came to hitting things. She’d already tried her on for size a few days after the breach had been stabilised, taking to the ring, where Cassandra had expected the mage would crumple within the first few rounds, though it ended two hours later in a rotten stalemate, but at the pub. How could she complain? On top of that, there was Varric, a very old friend from her travelling days in Kirkwall, spending some time in that horrific alienage. Haven was much nicer, she had an actual house here… If only it wasn’t for all this Herald of Andraste nonsense. She would have been more than happy to aunter back off on her travels, but a sense of goodwill had leashed her to these people, as well as her own conscience, not to mention she liked some of them. Others, not so much. Solas for a start, she sneered at the thought of the egg-headed elf. He was hiding something, and his too-calm voice and demeanour were offputting, he had no excitability, nothing in common for her to latch onto.

The other made her face redden and her lips turn into a feral snarl. Cullen. Knight-captain Cullen to be exact. Wynter remembered how he had treated the mages in Kirkwall and it boiled her blood. Even if he was changed now, softly spoken and easily embarrassed, she couldn’t bring herself to like him at all and he had definitely noticed, as had the others. Try as she might, she couldn’t seem to explain to them why she hated him as ferociously as she did but… There it was.

Sighing deeply, her eyes met the sky as the blue began to fade and a pink streak began. It was nearly dark, and there were creatures out here that were not as friendly as she was, although maybe her throne could use some wolf sculptures around it. Her heart dropped, she didn’t want to go back just yet not when she knew she was leaving for the Hinterlands so soon, setting out on missions to bring people back for the inquisition, to fill their ranks, both of warriors and helpers. She was particularly interested in this horse-master they spoke about, a small, genuine smile lighting her up. Since when she could first walk she had been out on her parents farm, tending to the horses, her sense of adventure only rivalled by her little ponys willingness to run. Hours spent in the valleys around, dancing out of trouble, building little jumps with her friends… She wondered if Dennet would have any Ferelden Bog ponies, as her mother had bred - stronger than any druffalo, more loyal than any Marbari. Hopefully. 

Drawing her thoughts away from her wants, she glanced to the sky once more, the blue having deepened to shades of purple and lilac. So, rising from her throne, she tottered across the surface of the frozen lake and back to the banks, where it was easier to walk, following the path through the trees and listening to something large snuffling so close. Her pace picked up instantly, rushing towards the gates, only to bring her stuttering to a halt. They were nearly closed, with a familiar brown eyed blonde standing in the miniscule gap.

“Herald --” He began.

“Wynter.”

“Herald,” He insisted, “You know the gates close when first dark hits, I’m sure all of Haven would appreciate you being back by dark, there are wolves, bears and other… Unmentionables”

Wynter sneered at him, but his eyes remained locked on hers, a golden brow raising in challenge. At first, the mage had expected the commander to be a walkover, with his stuttering and blushing at the slightest tease, but he had fairly slammed the foot down when it came to her.

“Apologies commander, must be irritating for you to be forced to watch over mages again. Maker forgive I was out there y’know abominating, or whatever you think we do,” and with that, she pushed past him and stormed off to her tiny lodge. Who did he think he was, telling her when to be back for? The soldiers slept outside the perimeters anyway, so worst came to worst, she could always find a tent. Someone would be willing to share with the Herald surely. 

A fire was already stoked and burning when she got there, the lodge warmed, its shutters closed and a bath drawn. Josephine most likely. They were getting on like a house on fire - the chatty ambassador was chatty, bubbly and full of fire. Her sharp wit hid beneath the proper lady that she acted to be, coming out only when she was among friends, to the point that Wynter could nothing but like the ambassador. Lelianna, she wasn’t so sure about, at least not yet. Her spymaster seemed to be crippled by the pain of the loss of the Divine and in part of her heart, Wynter wanted to reach out, to try and ease the insufferable pain, though whether Lelianna would let her in to help was another matter. On the subject of her ambassadors, her mind drifted to her commander, who seemed just as troubled as the red head, but she just couldn’t bring herself at all to even try to connect with him though she could amit he was pretty pleasing to the eye.

Woah, easy there girl!

“Why do I even bother.” She sighed, stripping herself and stepping into the steaming tub, feeling the water burning her skin and turning it a bright pink. Outside, the snow had picked up, and though the heat was pleasant, she would much rather be out there, dancing in the cold like the queen of ice that she was, sending flurries in every direction, building towering castles from the drift. A dream come true for an icy mage like herself however, any of the residents would be horrified to see her, especially perhaps in her current state of undress, though with the talk amongst the soldiers, there were some who would pay a great deal to see. There was even some rather… Flattering - at least that’s what Wynter was saying - pictures floating around, obviously painted by a very talented artist of her with various male figures. Her favourite so far was of her and king Alistair, bent over his knee. It had been an interesting experience to be painted as such, and one that made her grin from ear to ear. In such a trying time, she would even consider enjoying this whilst she could, in case she couldn’t close the breach as they all hoped, it was a stress reliever, and one that she perhaps didn’t encourage, but she didn’t entirely disagree. Even the ones with the commander, as raunchy as they were, exciting to look at. She appreciated the male form as much (or even more than) other women, tracing the lines across her painted suitors muscles, and scars, following sharp lines, or soft and appreciating both. With that, she shook her head, wondering how she ever let herself go this far, and climbed from the copper tub, noting how quickly the water had become tepid.

Wynter did not stand a chance as her head hit the soft down filled pillows, eyes snapping shut and drifting off almost instantaneously, drifting off to the place where she did not belong, but walked the paths anyway, since she was a young child. Here where she cast off her human form, though how she did not know, walking the fade as many others did but on paws instead of feet. Sometimes life was simpler here, with her white fur, grey rosettes blooming across the coat and chartreuse eyes glowing from her face and how she wished she could become more than just the human herald in the waking world, but her respite was met in here, in the form of a snow cat, simply wandering. Spirits took notice of humans, but animals walked the fade without notice, even demons passing them by without more than a second glance. Not that this was the true fade, she had once asked Solas about it and he had given her a surprised look before he tempered himself as always, explaining it to be her own normal dreams, but her magic brought just a touch of the fade to her, allowing her restful imagination to run wild. Plus maybe she liked snow cats a little too much. Oh well.

Tonight was different however as she roamed, watching the landscape through new eyes, stopping to smell what had been left here, whether it be carcasses or sweets, things that her mind could conjure depending on her day. There was none of that. Instead, in front of her roamed a lion, his thick mane flowing, amber eyes watching her carefully. Frozen in place, she knew she wouldn’t stand a chance against this mighty beast, but he had power and reach, whilst she had the speed and the flexibility to keep out of his reach - if it came to that. Instead, they stood, locked in gaze, gold and green, neither daring to make a move. Hours passed and yet not a muscle twitched, until she thought she may be stuck this forever. 

Eyes opened. No fear. Just an odd confusion that hazed her mind over whilst the dawn light glided in. Andraste's tits she seriously had to stay away from the mushrooms round Haven.


End file.
